


rest does not come easy (for those with night eyes)

by cowboysapnap



Series: alone at the edge of a universe (humming a tune) [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Delusions, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm bad at writing tbh, Insomnia, Mental Illness, That feeling when you start to feel like your room at night is its own dimension, This is a whole lot of projecting, and then the overwhelming sadness, that your phone can't get the scene right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28725540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboysapnap/pseuds/cowboysapnap
Summary: "rest does not come easy for those with night eyes,those with purple bruises on their faces,those with gaunt cheekbones and twitching fingersrest does not come easy for you and i, with our lonely placesand cigarettes that burn bitter."- december eighteenth two thousand twenty, four thirty seven a.m.
Relationships: (alluded to), Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: alone at the edge of a universe (humming a tune) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016029
Comments: 2
Kudos: 77





	rest does not come easy (for those with night eyes)

The moments between seconds are so long to some people. They stretch and stretch and they keep you rooted to the floor. They ache and wain and you can tell they are happening, you know it by the way nothing moves, but you can’t speed it up. The moments between seconds are more like rooms in a house that all line up and you desperately want to get to the next room but the doors are locked and the rooms are all the same. 

The moments between seconds are so long to Tommy. Every second of the day feels like it takes eons to get to the next, and then there are times where it seems like seconds are nothing at all. He can’t trust clocks, they all just seem to lie to him. It hurt Tommy’s head when he thought about it too much, but in the meaningless time he should find himself in slumber it's one of his most repeated topics. 

Tommy wasn’t ill. He wasn’t injured or struggling or in need of medication no matter what anyone told him. No matter what white coats and crisp papers and orange bottles with white caps said; there was nothing wrong with him. He just sometimes had to lie awake listening to the fabric of his pillows shift and crunch as he moved. He just sometimes had to lie awake adjusting his eyes to see perfectly in the dark, watch moonlight stream through partially closed blinds and make modern art on bare walls. He tried to take a picture of the beauty of it all once, but his camera couldn’t adjust to fit into this dimension of tranquility. It’s comforting and harrowing to know that when the moon rises above his window it’s only him that exists in this world. One that keeps him lonely and company. 

He didn’t care much for talking about his world anymore. When he was thirteen the nice girl in his biology class taught him how to apply concealer. It was the most human contact he’d had in weeks, the girl gently pressing a cushion to his face, putting on a thin film of a barrier that barely matched his skin, but it was still an act of inconceivable human kindness. Later, she would take him to a beauty store and buy him a vial of liquid magic that actually fit him. She moved away a month later. Tommy couldn’t remember her name. 

Tommy never told his new friends of his midnight dream world, never forgot to put on the concealer before streams, never forgot to go on invisible when he told them he was logging off. Tommy had rules- rules that kept his world safe, safe and lonely and his. He would play the character on streams, and keep his world as separate from the outside and public as he could. Tommy didn’t have much that really felt like his own. So he had to keep this one. 

Tommy remembers the very first time he ever messed up. Remembers how the panic went through his veins, remembers how he just clicked off the call- didn’t explain himself at all. Remembers how the next few days he didn’t even open discord; remembers streaming and pretending everything was fine. So what if he didn’t remember slumping forward just as he ended the stream? Doesn’t remember the next few days; slipping in and out of a blissfully unaware state? 

So what if when Tommy woke up, his parents were still on a business trip, and he was still ignoring the messages, and he was still pretending that everything was okay? 

At least he had his moonlit world, protecting him from the shrieks and cries of the outside.

**Author's Note:**

> thats a wrap! i personally struggle with insomnia, so this is a lot of projection :) hope you guys liked it ! leave a comment telling me your favorite line if you don't mind :) the title and summary are from a poem i wrote!


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